


Baby's First Christmas

by ChasingRabbits



Series: A Couple of Kooks [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Arguing, Christmas, Cunnilingus, F/M, Human Castiel, Human Meg, M/M, Parents Castiel & Dean Winchester, Pining Castiel, Recreational Drug Use, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:50:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1612319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingRabbits/pseuds/ChasingRabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas is a time for being around family. </p><p>Sometimes it takes a wailing infant to bring everyone together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby's First Christmas

“Forgive me for being this person, but if we’re going back to Sioux Falls for Christmas then why am I being dominated by a Douglass Fir.”

“I don’t know, maybe Doug knows you’re into some kinky shit.”

From around the pokey needles and the sticky tree trunk, Castiel can see Dean’s snarky grin. If Emma weren’t watching from the open front door right now, Castiel would be calling Dean every name in the book, and quite possibly making up some of his own colorful phrases. Emma is very smart, though, and quite fond of mimicry.

He doesn’t need his best friend’s daughter’s first word to be something like assbutt or fuckcicles, which is not so much a name as much as it is an exclamation.  The point being, he doesn’t need any more attention called to him when he’s waiting in line at the grocery store, or around running errands; he already gets side-eyed enough being a twenty-something with a baby strapped to his chest.

Castiel doesn’t think Dean meant for it to happen this way, but as soon as he was on a regular sleep cycle again, Dean took on yet another job. Now he works a graveyard security shift at a mall, and Castiel has taken to working almost entirely remotely so that he can watch over Emma.

Naomi said she doesn’t mind, but her eyes said he was in big trouble if he didn’t sort this out fast.

So, Dean has three jobs and now Castiel has two.

At least he’d take being a nanny over patrolling a dark shopping mall any day of the week.

Except, he doesn’t like the term ‘nanny’, because as soon as he says that, people will start to call him a ‘ _man_ ny’ and Castiel cannot handle that right now.

They manage to get the tree into the front room and set it up in the corner, beside the couch. They fasten it into the green and red base they bought along with the tree and shift it until it looks just right.

“Hot damn,” Dean claps his hands together. “We did all right, huh? No sweat, baby girl, you’re gonna have a kick ass first Christmas.”

Emma babbles something in the exact same rhythm with which Dean said _‘Christmas’_.

But then she also flails her arms so hard that she knocks herself in the face.

Cas snorts, “She certainly has your poise and graceful elegance of movement.”

“Shut up,” Dean mutters and goes to gather her from her seat. “Okay, you spazzed out, it’s cool. We’re cool.”

Emma isn’t crying though, she just looks surprised that all that wriggling got her a hand to the face.

“So, where are the decorations?” asks Dean.

Castiel raises an eyebrow.

“At… the store?”

“We don’t even have decorations?” Dean’s eyebrows go up. “What the hell, man?”

“We are two hopeful agnostics at _best_ , Dean, we have never had a Christmas tree here,” Castiel explains. “We’ve never needed decorations.”

Dean deflates and looks at Emma, “Well, son of a bitch, huh?”

“Lord, Dean,” Cas rolls his eyes.

“Well, I’m not leaving a naked tree out here for the world to see,” Dean fishes his car keys out of his pocket.

“Suddenly you decide to head the Fathers Against Arboreal Indecency brigade,” Cas nods.

“That’s right, use your big fancy ten dollar words,” Dean shakes his head. “We’ll see who’s laughing when we’ve got an awesome tree, right Emma-belle?”

Emma gurgles, and then Dean asks, “You need anything while we’re out?”

“We?” asks Cas.

“Yeah, I’m gonna take the kid,” Dean adjusts Emma on his hip. “You’ve been helping me out like crazy, man. Take the afternoon off… I kinda feel shitty leaving her with you all the time. I hardly get to see her, I gotta take her on daddy-daughter adventures when I can.”

“Yeah,” Cas nods. “Okay. Thank you, Dean.”

“No-no-no,” Dean wiggles a finger as he backs through the front door, “Thank _you_ , good sir.”

“You’re a freak,” Cas calls after him.

“Takes one to know one, peaches,” Dean shouts back, already halfway down the walk. Cas chuckles and, for the first time in weeks, Cas plops down on the couch.

By himself.

Holy crap, he hasn’t been by himself in forever. Well, Archie is technically there, but he’s sacked out under the table.

His first instinct is to masturbate, obviously. He could even take his time, work himself up, but it feels like an opportunity wasted on something that isn’t so gratifying.

He pulls out his phone and scrolls to Meg’s number.

The phone only rings three times before she picks up, “Well, well, what do we have here?”

“Are you busy?” he asks.

“Ever the romantic, there,” Meg’s voice slides so nice over him. “I’ll be over in ten.”

Castiel hangs up his phone and tosses it onto the couch, stripping himself of his outer layer and rain boots before he runs a toothbrush over his teeth and gives himself a quick shave.

He nicks himself a couple of times, his hands have started shaking so badly. His heart thumps a thousand beats per minute, because finally he gets to do something that has nothing to do with Dean and babies and work and laundry and _so much crap_ that he never had to worry about before.

By the time Meg is at the front door, Castiel thinks himself at least mildly presentable. Then again, his definition of presentable has changed significantly in the last four and a half months.

Meg just lets out one of her smugly amused laughs and reaches up to pull off the spots of toilet paper blotting up his shaving mishaps.

“Fatherhood’s a good look on you, Castiel,” Meg drops her purse by the door, by Emma’s swing. “Though, I hate to break it to you, this isn’t what they mean by _fatigue chic_.”

“I didn’t call you for a round of second rate insults,” says Castiel, and Meg smiles.

“I know you didn’t,” she crosses her arms over her chest. “I can’t say I don’t love it when you go all commanding mongoloid, but I have to ask: are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel insists. “Can we please have sex now?”

Meg raises an eyebrow at that.

“Well, not anymore,” she says. “Now you’re calling me for random hookups? That hurts my feelings, Cas.”

“How terribly impolite of me, yes, I know,” Cas closes the distance between them and presses their lips together. Cinnamon gum and diet coke fill his senses, send him reeling into a kaleidoscopic whirling dervish of absolute joy. He slips a hand up Meg’s shirt and brushes the backs of his knuckles over her lacy bra.

She’s so soft for someone with such rough edges.

“Here,” Cas guides her around and back onto the couch. He settles on the floor, down between her legs. He bumbles through unbuttoning her top, again from sheer anticipation, but his reward is more than worth it.

Front clasp bra.

Cas kisses up the soft curve of her tummy, then up into her cleavage, mouthing kisses over the tops of her beasts before he unhooks her bra.

Meg has gorgeous tits, too. He cups them both in his hands and just holds them for a few minutes.

“Yes, Castiel,” Meg pats his head. “They were attached to me last time, too.”

“Shut up, I’m having a lovely time at this reunion and I’ll thank you not to spoil it,” Castiel insists, and flicks his tongue over one nipple, and then the other. Meg arches into it, resting a hand on the back of his head as he sucks kisses into the soft, tender skin.

He slides a hand up her skirt, draws patterns over the warm skin of her inner thighs, teases at the edges of her lacy underpants. Normally he would tease her, make her beg for his fingers or his mouth, he would wait until she soaked through her panties before even thinking about touching her.

Dean is a thorough shopper, but Castiel figures they have probably less than an hour at best before Dean and Emma return.

Cas grabs Meg by the hips and hauls her forward, closer to his mouth. He hikes up her skirt and drags one of his knuckles over the hot, shiny silk just covering her clit.

She lets out a sharp moan, and Castiel smiles, pulling her panties aside so he can get at her pretty pink pussy.

“All business today, eh Castiel?” Meg taunts back, though she can’t hide how breathless she is. Cas doesn’t dignify that with a response, just drags a finger through her slit. She’s already starting to get wet.

Castiel smiles and slips his tongue over the same trail, relishing in her soft gasp. That’s his cue that he’s on the right track. He props her thighs up on his shoulders and buries his face between them.

This was what had made his sexuality so initially confusing. He _likes_ girls. He likes holding and kissing them, he likes cuddling with them and he certainly has never had this fear of the vagina that some men have.

Castiel plunges his tongue inside her, as far as it will go, and she gasps. He can’t be bothered to take it slow and eats her out like it’s his damn job. When his jaw gets tired, he slips one finger inside her, then another, and sucks on her clit until she’s thrashing underneath his touch.

She tightens her thighs and boxes in Cas’ ears. She’s got her hands in his hair and as she nears her orgasm she grips him even harder. He knows it hits her when she arches and holds his head still so she can ride it out on his face.

Meg doesn’t let them idle for long. As soon as Castiel has pulled back and wiped his face off on his sleeve, she slides off the couch and presses him back into the carpet. She makes quick work of his fly, reaching in and pulling out his cock and balls. Castiel groans at the relief of finally being touched, but he doesn’t get to savor it just yet.

“Hand me my purse,” she commands, and god help him, Castiel obeys. She rummages around for a minute and pulls out a condom.

“Aren’t we prepared,” Castiel beams back at her. It’s one of the things he likes about Meg, and one of the reasons they get along as well as they do.

“I was a girl scout once,” Meg offers a vague smile as she unwraps the condom and rolls it over Castiel’s erection.

“Right, you had to get your safe sex practices badge,” Castiel jests back. “I forgot.”

“Knocked that one out at the same time as my balloon animal badge,” she smirks, and with that sinks down onto Castiel’s cock.

Fuck, that’s nice.

Meg puts his hands on her hips and then plants her hands on Castiel’s shoulders. She wastes no time in setting the pace, and Cas laughs because she’s mostly dressed still but her breasts are out and bouncing with every buck of their hips.

“Shut up,” she rolls her eyes and comes back down to kiss him again. Castiel holds onto her as hard as she’ll allow, anchoring himself to the moment.

He comes inside her, keeping her close as he rides up into it. In an instant he feels one hundred percent lighter, the weight of his world finally gone from his shoulders. It feels like he can breathe again.

Meg lets out a hoot and slides off of Castiel. She checks the skinny silver watch around her wrist, “That’s gotta be a record there, Clarence.”

Castiel lets out and indignant whine and stuffs the used condom back into the wrapper for the time being so he can tuck himself back into his pants.

“Should give you plenty of recovery time before your husband gets back,” she adjusts her panties and fastens her bra.

Cas sits up and stretches the crick out of his back. He gets just a glimpse of her soft tummy rolling over before she buttons up her shirt, a fond smile climbing up onto his face.

“How come we stopped?” he asks.

Meg looks up at him and blinks.

“Stopped what?”

“This,” Castiel gestures between them. He could see being with Meg. She’s wicked smart and gorgeous to boot.

Meg, however, shakes her head, “’cause you were never really mine, kemosabe.”

“Okay, you may have needed to make exceptions for my slip ups with Crowley, but—”

“I’m not talking about Crowley, bird brain,” Meg levels a look at him. Castiel’s gut bottoms out.

“He’s straight, Meg,” he explains.

“That’s such a load of shit,” Meg shakes her head, smile still ghosting her lips. “The fact of the matter is that you’ll always choose Dean. Even if we stayed together, or you went and fucked off with Crowley once and for all, all roads lead you right back here, Castiel.”

Cas pulls his knees back up to his chest, and reassures her, “What if I chose you, though? We could be happy.”

The corner of her lips twitch and she gives a solemn shake of her head.

“You could be happy without him, Castiel,” she agrees, “But you don’t want to be, and there’s nothing I can do about that.”

She ducks and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks for the nooner, champ,” she pats him on the back. “You know where I am if you need me.”

And just like that, Castiel is alone again.

Except for Archie, of course, who is awake now and comes to sit beside him, sensing his inner distress.

Either that or he just came over to lick the sweat off of Castiel’s arm and the smell of Meg off of his fingers.

“You’re shameless, you know that?” he shakes his head.  

Even with Archie beside him, Meg’s words have left Castiel hollow and lonlier than ever. When a tear escapes his eye, he swipes it away. Because if you swipe it away before anyone saw it, it never existed.

It’s only about ten minutes before Dean’s key scrapes the front door lock, and he and Emma make their return. Another ten seconds, Dean sniffs the air and pulls a face.

“Man, fuck fumes? Really?”

“I thought you’d be gone longer,” Castiel’s voice rattles. “Sorry.”

Dean’s silence makes Castiel’s anxiety skyrocket, and it doesn’t get any better when Dean finally does sigh and say, “Fucking Meg.”

“Dean—“

“Don’t try to deny it, I can smell the skank’s perfume in here too,” Dean wrinkles his nose.

“Could you not?” Castiel snaps then. “For god’s sake, Dean, you have a daughter. What would you do if someone called Emma a skank?”

“Beat them within an inch of their lives,” Dean replies without missing a beat.

“So why would you call anyone anything you wouldn’t want said to your own child, Dean?” Castiel stands. “That’s the kind of thing that breeds internalized misogyny, and I’m sorry but I will not let you do that to your daughter.”

He sniffs back the remainder of his tears and grabs the used condom wrapper off the floor. Hopefully Dean didn’t notice that.

“Whoa, dude, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Cas clears his throat and decides, “I’m going to go work for a while.”

“Don’t you wanna decorate the tree?” asks Dean. “I got some sweet ornaments… Well, they’re gonna be sweet. Mostly I found a bunch of action figures and these ornament hooks. Cheaper than the ceramic stuff and hey,” Dean grabs one of the toys out of his bag and drops it on the floor. “Shatter proof.”

It makes Castiel’s heart hurt even more knowing that Dean is so obviously trying to cheer him up. The problem is that he doesn’t want to be cheered up, not really. It won’t change the fact that he’s so stupidly head over heels for someone who can’t feel the same way about him, or that he allowed himself to become this entangled in his own emotions.

“That’s nice of you,” Castiel finally replies, “But that sounds like a family affair. Plus, I’m really behind on my stuff for this issue.”

Archie is the only one allowed to follow him into his room. Castiel shuts the door behind him and locks it for good measure before flopping down on his bed and trying to forget this entire afternoon ever happened.

* * *

_That sounds like a family affair_ .

“You are my family, fuckwad!” Dean bangs on Cas’ door.

“Go away, Dean!” Cas shouts back. “I told you, I have to work.”

“You’re having a pity party, you shit,” Dean bangs on the door even harder.

“Whatever kind of party I decide to throw for myself is the opposite of your business,” Castiel replies.

Emma fusses in the other room and Dean reminds himself to dial it down. Babies learn fast, and Emma isn’t any exception. She knows when they’re happy now, and will smile back, but that also means when they’re pissed, she gets pissed.

“Cas, come on,” Dean sighs, resting his forehead against the door. “Will you just talk to me?”

“Fuck off!” Cas shouts and okay, good. Fine. Dean backs away from the door, ice settling low in his gut as he walks back into the front room to soothe his daughter. What was meant to be comforting for the both of them only serves to frustrate them even more.

What the fuck is Cas even thinking? They are family, and families decorate Christmas trees together. At least, this family does. He hereby decrees it that they will always decorate the Christmas tree as a family, because he will give his daughter everything his parents couldn’t.

It was hard, growing up. Dad was drunk half the time and mom was so burnt out from working so much that they just never had it in them to celebrate Christmas like other kids did. He and Sam didn’t really have a proper Christmas until Ellen and Bobby took them in.

He never wants Emma to know what that’s like.

So, he and Emma decorate the tree themselves. Or, Dean makes the ornaments and hangs the lights and Emma watches with this curious look on her face. But she also starts trying to eat her own hand not long after that, so Dean is pretty sure she doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

To her, he’s just a shape that’s getting mad at the string of Christmas lights when all he really wants to do right now is be mad at Cas.

He and Cas don’t usually get all that pissed at each other either. There will be one thing or another that they argue over, but for the most part they know enough about one another and how to deal with each other’s moods that it all blows over relatively quickly.

The apartment is too small for it to continue in the way that it does over the next week.

Cas avoids him as much as possible. The only words they speak to one another concern Emma, and apart from that it’s nothing but silence between the two of them.

Nobody has given Dean the silent treatment since his first girlfriend, Cassie Robinson, and that had been all the way back in the eighth grade.

It’s the twenty-third of December before they know it, and because Castiel still refuses to be an adult and just talk to him, Dean is packing on his own, running around like a headless chicken. Emma is at least occupied by the Schoolhouse Rock DVD he popped in for her, but Dean is not an efficient packer.

Cas makes lists, weeks in advance, so thorough that they make Dean’s head spin. Meanwhile, he can’t sit still long enough to write a goddamned thing down. It’s the night before they’re starting their drive back to Sioux Falls, and Dean is pretty sure all he’ll need for a week away is his toothbrush, tooth paste, and a couple changes of clothes. Cas is the one who knows everything Emma needs.

This results in Dean needing to break something, but there’s nothing to break and nowhere to break it even if there was.

And then he can’t move.

Nothing hurts, everything is where it should be, but Dean just cannot move. He tries, but his legs won’t cooperate. He can’t even open his mouth to call for help. He stands paralyzed in the middle of his room until Castiel comes in with Emma’s diaper bag in hand, all packed and ready to go.

He leaves it by Dean’s duffel bag without a word and then leaves.

Oh, that’s fucking it.

“Cas,” he shouts after him. It’s a small space, he doesn’t know why he’s being so loud. Maybe it’s because it’s been way too quiet lately.

“What, Dean?” Cas snips back.

“Don’t be a dick,” Dean crosses his arms. “What did I do?”

Cas frowns.

“I don’t understand,” he just says, and Dean fucking loses it.

“You haven’t talked to me all week, dick!” he yells back, his aggression finally getting an outlet. “It’s been the fucking silent treatment. All fucking week. You know who does that? Thirteen year olds. We didn’t do it when we were kids and we’re not doing it now. So just nut the fuck up and tell me what I did.”

“Has it ever occurred to you,” Cas bellows back, “that something in my life may not in fact be about you, or something that you did? Perhaps why I’m feeling like shit is entirely because of me, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Cas—“

He can’t finish his sentence before Castiel slams his bedroom door in Dean’s face.

“Oh, _fuck_ no,” Dean pounds on the door. “We’re not doing this again, Cas.”

The only reply he gets is Cas turning on his music, loud as the day is clear.

“Grateful Dead isn’t pissy little cuntrag music, fuckhead,” Dean kicks the door, which sends Emma into a fucking fit in the other room. God, his kid is going to grow up just like him, isn’t she?

As if that weren’t enough, Cas changes the song, and a heavy bass starts pulsing, and motherfucking Dr. Dre starts playing. Cas’ taste in music makes little to no sense. Normally Dean would be endeared by this, but right now it makes him want to throw up. So, he does the only thing he can think of. He grabs Emma’s sling out of the diaper bag and fixes it over his chest, tucks her away, grabs his keys, and leaves the apartment.

He just needs to go for a walk, and maybe the fresh air will soothe both him and Emma.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl,” he sighs and strokes her cheek. She’s stopped crying at least now that they’re away from the apartment and down the street, and there isn’t any shouting or loud noises. Dean still wants to kill something, but at least having his little girl with him keeps him in check.

“I know how much it blows to have parents who fight,” he says. Emma stares back up at him. Her eyes are starting to change color, from their deep green blue to something darker. Dean thinks Lydia’s eyes were brown, maybe? Fuck, maybe they were blue. He can’t really remember, as shitty as it is to realize.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he sighs, and paces the block back and forth until he’s okay enough to go back inside. Cas is hauling the last of their bags out to the car, offering no explanation as Dean passes him.

The car is packed, the fridge is cleared out, the apartment is more or less clean.

There’s nothing left to do except go to sleep.

**oo**

In case anybody was wondering, yes, it is in fact really fucking awkward to drive over sixteen hundred miles with a baby in the front seat and a four-month-old strapped into the back.

Cas sleeps on and off for the first leg of the trip, and although Dean would love nothing more than to drive the full twenty four hours in one shot, Emma needs to stop for the night.

Dean sleeps, or tries to at least. Cas keeps the light on at the desk and clicks away at his computer. He has no idea how he occupies his time through the night, but Dean suspects that he’s working, even though they’re technically both on vacation.  Every time he rolls over, at eleven, one, three, five in the morning, Cas is click-click-clacking away.

Emma wakes at six, like she does every morning, rousing Dean with a sharp wail. Cas is up and on it until Dean can even roll out of bed, though, grabbing a bottle and plopping down in the musty armchair by the window.

“We don’t want to wake your papa, do we?” he hears Cas whisper. “I know, I know, and I’m sorry. It’s not about you, it’s not about your papa, and it’s not your fault. I promise.” Emma zones out and lets Cas talk to her. He doesn’t talk about anything of import, just keeps his voice going so she has something to listen to.

He doesn’t know why it hurts so much when Cas starts singing… what the fuck, is he singing the theme song from Greatest American Hero? He knows they’re getting older, but Christ, they’re not that old.

Well… maybe Cas is, but Dean isn’t.

Fuck it, yes they are.

From Greatest American Hero, Cas hops to Cheers, then… something else probably. Dean falls asleep before he has the chance to hear it.

The road trip continues to suffer, however, because apparently even though Castiel insists that his mood is not about Dean, it is very, very clearly about Dean.

At least the drive today is a lot shorter than yesterday’s. Dean woke at eight and got them on the road not even half an hour later, even with Cas dragging his feet and being an all-around child about everything.

Dean is kind of grateful that he’s pawning him off on his family for the next few days, it’ll be good to have a break from this.

Whatever it is.

Cold war? Cold war seems appropriate. No weapons, no biting remarks, just silence.

Cas’ family lives in this nice house that Dean was only ever allowed to go into once or twice. His mom is a piece of work and his stepdad is the worst, and every time they saw either of the Winchesters they told them that they could only play outside, or had to hang out somewhere else.

From the curb, it looks warm and inviting, like most houses around here.

Inside it’s a desolate ice palace, white walls and floors and everything.

They’d always just had the carpets steam cleaned.

“You good?” asks Dean. “You don’t need any help or whatever?”

“I’ll be fine,” Cas reassures him and turns back to Emma. “Watch out for Papa for me, okay?”

“Ba-ba” Emma replies as she grabs her socks.  

Cas turns to Dean and in all earnestness says, “Have a nice Christmas.”

It’s really hard for Dean not to reply, _‘Shove it up your ass’_ , but he manages the appropriate, “You too” with every last modicum of his strength.

The rest of the drive back to Bobby and Ellen’s isn’t too bad now that Dean can finally breathe again. His shoulders hurt, and Dean only just realizes that he’s been tense the entire way here, both days.

He’s four months into being a dad and yet this last week is the most stressed he thinks he’s been since mom and dad died.

Dean has never been so happy to see Singer Salvage Yard in his entire life. He parks out by Bobby’s old Chevelle and ducks into the back seat to unbuckle Emma. She wriggles against Dean, but that’s the only form of protest he receives.

“This is gonna be fun, sweetheart,” he reassures her. “You’ll meet Bobby and Ellen, and Jo, and you’ll get to see Uncle Sammy again… Uncle Cas will be back in a few days, and hopefully he’ll be done with being a douchewheel.”

He opens the trunk and shoulders both his duffel and the diaper bag before walking up the steps and in through the kitchen door. Ellen stands over the sink, skinning potatoes. Dean smiles, enjoys the moment for all of a split second before he clears his throat and says, “Honey, I’m home.”

“Good Lord,” Ellen startles. “I’m holdin’ a peeler, Dean, I—”

She stops the very second she sees Emma.

“Oh, my goodness,” she breathes. “Oh, my goodness, and who is this? Is this my sweet little Emma girl?”

“Uh, hi Ellen,” Dean greets as Ellen takes Emma from him.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she says, without taking her eyes off of Emma. “How are you?”

A moment, and then she looks over at Dean.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” she says. “Lord, the poor child can’t even talk. Why would I be askin’ her?”

“Cas talks to her like that,” he says without thinking. Ugh, he hadn’t meant to start talking about him. He doesn’t want to fuck up Christmas with feeling bad about Cas.

“Of course he does,” Ellen rolls her eyes. “That’s ‘cause Cas is a nut.”

She finally balances Emma on her hip and opens up her free arm to Dean.

“How are you, sugarplum?”

“I’m good,” Dean shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Boy, what have I told you about bullshitting me?” Ellen raises an eyebrow.

Dean heaves a sigh and looks up at the ceiling, “Not to.”

“That’s right,” she nods. “Now what’s goin’ on?”

Jesus Christ, how does she do that? Is that a mom thing? Because he remembers his mom doing that too. He wonders if it’s a mom thing, or if it’s something he’ll be able to master too.

Emma lets out a little noise and hangs onto the chain of Ellen’s reading glasses.

“Oh, honey, now don’t grab that,” she tries to get it out of Emma’s clutches, but it’s no use. She removes the chain from her neck and lets Emma hold it, only for Emma to drop it a second later.

“Oh, good,” Ellen mutters. “The ‘pain in the ass’ gene made it down the pike.”

“Thanks,” Dean grabs her glasses from the floor and hands them back to her. She takes this as an opportunity to grab Dean’s face and look him close in the eye.

“Crimeny,” she tuts. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Fatherhood, I think?” Dean raises his eyebrows.

“No, it’s not that,” she frowns. “Honey, you gotta get some rest.”

“I did,” Dean pulls away. “I got five hours last night.”

“I mean _rest_ -rest.”

“What is that?” asks Dean. “Is that a thing?”

“Lord,” Ellen shakes her head. “You know, I know you have it in your head that you gotta take care of everything, but you’ve gotta take a load off once in a while. If you don’t, you’ll end up droppin’ dead before you’re forty.”

“Thanks, Ellen, that’s really comforting,” Dean nods.

“It’s not meant to be comforting, you horse’s ass,” Ellen bounces Emma on her hip. “Good God, she is a doll. She always this social?”

“If you call ‘social’ screaming at the top of her lungs every time she needs something, then yeah,” Dean crosses his arms, and chuckles when Ellen smacks him on the shoulder.

“Don’t you dare talk bad about my sweet angel,” Ellen chides him and presses a kiss to the fine blonde hairs on Emma’s head. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap? You’re worn out.”

Dean manages a quick, “You’re worn out,” before Ellen snaps at him to get his ass upstairs before she kicks it up there for him.

His and Sam’s room is a lot plainer than it was when they were kids, mostly because they’ve been back several times over the years to pick and choose what they still need and what they can let go.

Dean crawls up into his old bed. It’s still as warm and soft as he remembers, and there’s still the scratches in the wall paper from those nights when he just couldn’t keep still and he had to do _something_ that wouldn’t wake anyone.

There’s a picture of him and Cas stuck just above the bed frame. Dean was probably fourteen, Cas sixteen, and they’ve got their arms draped around each other with big goofy grins on their faces.

Like the idiots that they are.

Every logical part of his brain knows he should just text Cas and say that he’s sorry, even though he has nothing to be sorry about. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and opens up his and Cas’ text thread.

Their last conversation is almost painful to read.

_‘Do you have any whites that need to be washed? I’m doing a load of laundry.’_

_‘im good’_

_‘Ok.’_

Dean hits the edit button and then deletes the entire conversation history.

He rolls over to face the wall and sighs.

If things could just stop sucking for, like, five minutes, that would be fantastic.

Unfortunately, that’s not the way the world works, and instead of Cas magically calling him up to apologize for being a goddamned head case, Dean feels exhaustion hit him hard.

When he wakes it’s pitch black outside. The smell of pot roast hangs heavy in the air, and for a moment of very real panic, Dean thinks that everyone has eaten dinner without him. He leaps out of bed and darts downstairs, where he finds everyone…

In the living room.

Gathered around Emma.

“There’s daddy,” Ellen coaxes a smile out of Emma, and Bobby, Sam, and Jo look back. Jo is the first to spring to her feet. She’s sixteen now, and at this point in her life Sam and Dean have been family to her for longer than they hadn’t been. She wraps her arms around Dean and gives him a squeeze.

“Way to tell me my niece is so cute,” she socks him on the shoulder. “Oh, let me show you what I got for her!”

As Jo dashes off, Bobby grabs Dean by the shoulder and pulls him into a big bear hug. He claps Dean on the back, “Always good to see you, boy.”

“You too, Bobby,” Dean hugs him for just a little longer than he intended, and Bobby being Bobby, lets him.

“Where’s Cas?” asks Sam, and Dean falters.

“Uh,” he articulates masterfully. “We’re… kinda not talking. I think?”

The room goes dead silent, and Dean swears he’s never had eyes throw daggers at him like this before.

“What the hell did you do?” asks Bobby, and Ellen snaps, “Hush.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Dean exclaims. “Okay, _he’s_ the one who hopped the last train to the fucking booby hatch, I’m innocent.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam crosses his arms.

“Don’t give me that shit,” Dean warns.

“Hey!” Ellen barks, startling Emma enough to get a pinched up face. “Not you, baby. Your daddy’s an idiot, not you.”

“What!”

“Nobody disrespects anybody in this house,” she lays Emma back on her blanket and stands. Emma, entirely bored of the ceiling, twists to lie on her tummy. The floor is apparently much more interesting.

“Sam,” Ellen says, “Dean has a problem and being a smartass ain’t gonna help.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam mutters.

“And you,” she rounds on Dean. “Don’t get all tough guy on us just because you’re hurtin’.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean nods.

“Now,” Ellen puts her hands on her hips, leveling a look at Dean. “That boy thinks the sun shines outta your ass. Why isn’t he talkin’ to you?”

“I don’t know!” Dean shrugs. “He just got really pissed at me the other day and he keeps saying it’s not my fault, but what the _fuck_.”

“Did you ever think maybe it’s not?” Sam offers.

“Ah, bite me,” Dean tosses back.

Sam snaps his teeth.

“He doesn’t take shit out on me if it’s not about me,” says Dean. “Trust me, okay? I know the guy.”

“Dean, you’re using him as your nanny,” Sam raises an eyebrow.

“You’re _what_?!” Bobby and Ellen both demand at once.

“Hey, easy!” Dean holds up his hands. “I got three jobs I’m workin’, okay, and it’s all to foot the bills and give my kid everything she needs. Cas is already home anyway, and I didn’t ask him to do it, all right? He offered.”

“That doesn’t mean you take advantage of the guy,” Bobby frowns. “Come on, you know better than that. God’s sake, hire a real nanny.”

“He’s not my nanny!” Dean defends. “He’s good with Emma, okay? Really good. He loves her almost as much as I do.”

He can’t even convince himself that he’s in the right here, though. Just as he’s about to answer, the timer on the oven sounds and Dean jumps to tend to it.

“We’re not done here, mister!” Ellen warns him.

Maybe not forever, but they’re at least done for now.

**oo**

It’s been hours.

 _Hours_.

Emma has not stopped crying for two hours now. You think she’d run out of juice, but every time she quiets it proves to be just a lull, and she starts up again. They’ve all tried every single trick they know, every single person has held her, and she will not relent.

“Dean, honey,” Ellen rubs her eyes. “I know it’s not your fault, but please, _please_ get her to stop. It’s breakin’ my heart.”

“And it’s breakin’ my ear drums,” says Bobby.

“Thanks,” Dean bounces her softly, but it’s hardly doing its job of placating her. She keeps spitting out her binky, she won’t drink her warm formula.

She’s never cried for this long, and all Dean wants to do is just hand her off and quit.

Not die or anything, just quit. Start over in Poughkeepsie or something.

“There’s nothin’ else?” Ellen asks, desperation edging her voice. It’s midnight, maybe a little after now. Everyone is tired.

Then Dean remembers.

“You guys know the Greatest American Hero song?” he asks.

“’the hell?” asks Bobby. “The TV show?”

“Yeah, uh,” Dean clears his throat. He starts humming the melody, or what he can remember of it, and bouncing Emma to it. Dean barely gets to the chorus before Emma’s wails grow louder.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He punches Cas’ number into the dial pad and holds the phone to his ear.

On the fifth ring, a very groggy Cas picks up the phone.

“Dean?” concern edges his voice. “What’s wrong? Is that Emma?”

“She won’t stop,” Dean pleads. “She’s been pissed for hours, dude. I tried to put her down but she won’t stay. Nothing is working.”

“… put me on speaker,” he says, and Dean does as he’s told. “Emma, it’s me. Emma, sweetheart, you’re okay.”

The sound of Cas’ voice is enough to get her to stop screaming, but by no means gets her calm.

“Try singing to her,” says Cas.

“I tried man, she hates my voice,” Dean can’t believe he’s about to cry over the phone to his best friend, but here he is, with the voice break and the tears and all.

“Okay, hang on,” the sound of Cas shifting. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t answer your phone when I call back.”

“Wha-“ the line goes silent. A second later, Cas’ face comes up on his phone, so Dean ignores it.

Two minutes later, his phone buzzes with a voicemail message. Emma’s cries are softer now, though still unrelenting.

“ _Hi, Emma,”_ comes Cas’ voice. He starts singing again, and okay, it sounds way better when you actually know the words. It gets her quiet, at least until it’s over.

Holy shit, Emma wants Cas. Not her dad, but… but _Cas_.

Ah, shit.

* * *

 

Castiel doesn’t mean for it to go on for as long as it does, but Dean will not stop bothering him and it’s pissing him off. He still looks after Emma, though, because this isn’t about her, and it’s not even about Dean, really.

It’s not about Meg, or Crowley, or anybody else.

It’s about him.

He’s mad at himself for letting it go this far. He’s mad at himself for not taking a hint, for not moving on when he needed to.

He’s mad at himself for falling so hopelessly in love with his best friend’s little girl that he couldn’t move on now, even if he tried.

Even if he wanted to.

When they pull up outside of his childhood home, Castiel feels a sense of dread settle over him. True, he’s not fond of family time in general, but now he’s got Emma—or, he’s been with Emma so much that he doesn’t feel right leaving her.

He’s leaving her with her father, what the hell is he thinking? If anything, it wouldn’t be right for him to stay. No matter how many times Dean says that they’re family, they’re not family in the way that Dean and Emma are family. Hell, they’re not even family in the way that Bobby, Ellen, and Jo are to Sam and Dean.

“You good?” asks Dean as Cas gathers his things . “You don’t need any help or whatever?”

“I’ll be fine,” Cas supplies before he turns back to Emma. “Watch out for Papa for me, okay?”

Emma repeats, “Ba-ba!” and flails her arms.

Getting out of the car and watching them drive away is more difficult than it has any right to be.

With a giant hole in his chest and a metric ton of guilt weighing on his shoulders, Castiel walks up to his parents’ home and steps inside. It’s as neat and tidy inside as it’s always been.

“Hello?” he calls, but gets no response. That’s probably good. He doesn’t really feel like dealing with anyone right now. Last time he was left alone, he ended up Afternoon Delighting himself into being mad at Dean for something he didn’t do.

And then he gets sad, because Dean would have thought _Afternoon Delighting_ was funny, would have commended him for his reference, and spent the rest of the conversation with a goofy smile on his face.

He trudges up to his room and puts his bag down on his desk. His room isn’t too much different than it was when he left for college. He kept it tidy, as per his mother’s requests. There were many other, more satisfying ways to subvert parental authority.

Sneaking out and banging a third-year communications student while asking his older brother to cover for him, for instance.

Castiel grabs his toiletries out of his bag and goes to set them in the bathroom, only to find the room is already occupied by said older brother, who thinks it’s appropriate to be taking a bath with his headphones wedged deep in his ears.

It’s more of Gabriel than Castiel wants to see, but Gabriel obviously has no shame so why should he?

He does take the decorative bar of soap (shaped like a sea shell) and toss it right in the bath water, startling Gabriel out of his trance.

“What the fuck, man?”

“I could say the same to you,” Castiel frowns. “Why the hell are you taking a bath?”

“No one was home, was done jerking off,” Gabriel shrugs. “Thought I’d go full Lebowski and take a bath, listen to whale sounds, smoke some weed…”

Cas grabs one of his headphones and puts it to his ear.

“Is that The Bangles?”

“Okay, I got bored with whale sounds and put on my 80s playlist,” Gabriel snatches the headphone back. “You’re here early, I thought you would’ve been with your ward until church tonight.”

Castiel sighs and sets down his toiletries bag, opting instead to sit on the floor beside the tub.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks.

“’course you can,” Gabriel pauses his music and reclines back in the tub. “Tell me somethin’ good.”

“Dean is a father.”

“Holy shit!” is apparently the most appropriate thing Gabriel feels he can say.

“I know,” Cas sighs. The way Gabriel looks at him, like he’s actually sorry that this is the situation Castiel is facing.

“Who’s the girl?” asks Gabe.

Castiel recalls the whole sordid affair of the last four months, up to and including the last week, which has undoubtedly been the worst part. Gabriel listens, nods, provides a couple of unhelpful comments (“You’re still fucking Crowley? Goddamn, I severely underestimated how big his dick obviously is.” “Meg too, wow. You really get around, pal.”)

When he’s finished, he’s so close to crying that he has to take a few deep breaths to steady his mind.

“That’s pretty fucked up,” Gabriel concludes.

“Yes, thank you,” Cas snaps back.

“Dude, what are you looking for here?” Gabriel sits up, bath water sloshing against the sides of the tub. “You’re a grown-ass man, okay. What do you want?”

“I don’t know, Gabriel,” Cas thuds his head back against the wall.

“You wanna know what it sounds like to me?” Gabriel asks.

“… well, now I’m not sure,” Castiel frowns, and at Gabriel’s raised brow he groans, “I want to know how I ended up a nanny.”

“Oh, come on,” Gabriel gives him a look. “You’re not a nanny.”

“If you say _man_ ny _,_ I swear to god—“

“You’re a stay-at-home dad,” Gabriel says, and Castiel’s face has got to be pretty priceless, because what the _fuck_?

“What the fuck?” he repeats.

“Listen to what you just told me,” says Gabriel, and he ticks off on his fingers, “You work from home so you can stay with the baby, you clean up after her, take her on walks, run errands with her—“

“Nannies do that,” Castiel points out.

“You’re not a nanny,” Gabriel says. “You’re not getting paid. What do we call a nanny who doesn’t get paid?”

“… a slut?”

“A stay-at-home parent, _Sass_ -tiel,” Gabriel corrects, and Cas rolls his eyes.

“I bet you think that was clever,” he says.

“Bitch, I know that was clever,” Gabriel snorts. “Now, run along, mommy’s busy.”

He inserts the headphones back into his ears and sinks lower into the water.

Castiel isn’t sure that he likes Gabriel’s implication. He shuts the bathroom door behind him and rubs his temples all the way downstairs. He needs a cup of tea, or a stiff drink.

Naturally, his parents are home now, and choose this moment to notice his presence.

Mom sees him first, and gives him one of her guarded, matronly smiles. She only pulls him into a hug after he’s said ‘hello’, and gives him a kiss on the cheek. Then his stepdad sees him and gives him a clap on the shoulder.

“Good to have you back, Castiel.”

Zachariah is mom’s third husband. Her first husband and Anna’s dad, Richard Milton, died when Anna was only a year old, taken out by pneumonia. Her second husband, father to both Gabriel and Castiel, was gone before Castiel was even born. Mom says that it’s because James Novak wasn’t right with The Lord; Gabriel says it’s because he cheated on mom with one of the women from church, that she got pregnant and they moved to parts unknown.

Zachariah Smith, an old friend of Richard, stepped in when he saw Amy struggling to support three children on her own.

They were married before Castiel even started kindergarten.  

He’s the only dad Castiel has ever known.

He means that in the most neutral, could-give-a-rat’s-ass way possible.

Not that he can say that, since Zachariah has paid for every single one of Castiel, Gabriel, and Anna’s academic endeavors.

“Honey, you look tired,” mom frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Just drove from California to here in two days,” Castiel rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Well, Dean drove.”

Mom and Zachariah both tense at the sound of Dean’s name, like saying it two more times will make him appear out of nowhere.

He doesn’t feel like telling them about Emma, or his week-long unrelenting desire to pitch himself off of the nearest cliff. He feels like curling up in his bed and trying to forget that he has to make the trip back with Dean in a couple of days.

Maybe Gabe will share some of his pot with him before they have to go to Christmas Eve service tonight. He always liked going to church stoned off his ass—it was always so much more bearable that way.

Castiel gets as far as curling up in his bed, but he doesn’t sleep. He plays Words with Friends on his phone, goes through all of his lives on Candy Crush, and scrolls through Facebook until he can’t take it anymore.

Life is just plain boring by himself. He wants to have Emma strapped to his chest, or balanced in his arms; he wants to watch TV with Dean while he does research for an article, or has to comb through a story looking for errors.

He pulls up a text to Dean and starts typing, “I’m sorry”, but mom calls for him and has him come downstairs to help her with dinner.

 _‘I’m s’_ sits unfinished in his drafts for the rest of the night.

**oo**

Anna calls to say that her plane won’t be in until tomorrow morning.

Cas and Gabriel smoke before church.

Gabriel giggles through all of the Christmas songs; Castiel sacks out on Gabriel’s shoulder as soon as their pastor starts talking about the birth of Christ.

Mom and Zachariah insist they all go tour the neighborhood’s Christmas lights, for which, by then, Castiel is mostly sobered up.

It’s an evening that leaves Castiel drained and ready for a full night’s sleep.

He tucks himself up under his covers, rolls to his side, and proceeds to stare at his wall for the next hour and a half.

Just as he starts to drift off, though, his phone rings. Dean’s face comes up on the screen, and Castiel quickly swipes to answer.

“Dean?” he answers. There’s a very distinct wailing in the background, and he sits up, “What’s wrong? Is that Emma?”

“She won’t stop,” Dean’s voice edges on hysteric, immediately crushing Castiel’s heart in a vice. “She’s been pissed for hours, dude. I tried to put her down but she won’t stay. Nothing is working.”

“… put me on speaker,” he says.

“Okay,” Dean says after a second.

“Emma, it’s me,” Castiel says into the receiver, “Emma, sweetheart, you’re okay.”

She gets a little quieter, but not by much. Dean isn’t great under this kind of pressure, Castiel knows, so he tries to go through his arsenal of Emma calming techniques.

“Try singing to her,” he suggests.

“I tried man, she hates my voice,” Dean chokes.

Sometimes with Dean, you have to read between the lines. Something that sounds like, “ _I tried_ ” or “ _she hates my voice_ ” to Castiel might sound like, _“please, I need your help”_ to Dean.

“Okay, hang on,” Castiel sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t answer your phone when I call back.”

Castiel hangs up and waits thirty seconds before dialing Dean back. Dean, good boy, ignores the call and sends him right to voicemail.

“Hi, Emma,” Cas says, and starts singing into the receiver as he puts on his socks and boots. He hangs up and tiptoes across the hall, into Gabriel’s room. He’s awake still, and thankfully clothed.

“What’s up?”

“May I borrow your car?”

Gabriel looks up from his laptop, studying Castiel for a few moments before he grabs the keys out of his pocket and tosses them across the room. Castiel catches them, fires off a quick thanks, and dashes down the stairs.

Gabriel still drives the car he and Castiel shared through high school. It’s a hatchback Honda Civic from the eighties, held together now mostly with duct tape and a prayer. Dean will probably flip out when he sees it clunking along, but he’ll worry about that later.

The drive to the salvage yard is blessedly short, which is good, because everyone in the house is awake, Emma is sobbing, and Bobby looks to be on the verge of murder.

“Thank god,” Jo sighs with relief when she sees Castiel.

“Emma,” Cas walks over to where Dean holds her against his chest. Dean passes her off without so much as a word. “You’re all right, sweetheart.” Castiel reassures her, and just like that her volume drops. It takes a few laps around the living room to get her calmed down and somewhat silent, but even Castiel is surprised at how little effort it takes once he’s got her.  

“Well, thank God for that,” Ellen lets out a breath and pats Bobby on the chest. “I think we’re all in the clear.”

One by one everyone shuffles upstairs. Sam lingers the longest, looking between Castiel and Dean as though he wants to say something, but he refrains and eventually joins everyone else upstairs. Castiel presses a kiss to the top of Emma’s head and holds her close.

“I missed you too,” he tells her. “Though I hardly think the theatrics were necessary.”

Emma hiccups and grabs a tiny fistful of Cas’ shirt.

Dean, meanwhile, does not bother with going to the couch, and instead drops where he is, onto the floor.

“On the other hand, I think perhaps your flair for the dramatic may be genetic.”

Dean flips him off.

Castiel smiles despite himself and sinks to the floor too, cradling Emma all the way. She’s red faced and looks at Castiel like she’s never been more exhausted in her very short life.

“I know, it’s very cold here,” he agrees, and smiles when Dean snorts from his place on the floor. “But you see that? That’s snow, and when your papa was younger, I used to make snowmen with him.”

“He made snow angels,” Dean corrects Castiel. “I’m the one who made the snowmen.”

“Touchy,” Castiel clucks and rests a hand on Emma’s round, protruding belly. The gesture further calms her, and her eyes slip shut.

“Whoa, since when does she do that?” Dean sits up.

“She’s not a dog, I didn’t train her,” Castiel explains. “I realized it soothes her, so I do it.”

Dean reaches over and Castiel moves his hand so he can try it.

Emma lets out a sleepy sound and shuts her eyes, and Dean lets out a sigh of relief. “How ‘bout that? Uncle Cas may know what he’s talking about.”

Dean looks up, and he’s very close all of a sudden, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that. From the looks of it, neither does Dean.

Castiel’s heart speeds up.

Holy crap, are they going to kiss?

Dean clears his throat and pulls back and Castiel tries very, very hard not to appear crestfallen. Before Dean can speak, Castiel butts in, “I’m sorry.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, and Castiel continues, “I was being a child. I promise, I was never upset with you, I… I misplaced my anger from another situation, and that was very, very wrong of me.”

Dean lets out a soft breath, his shoulders sag, and Cas steadies his hold on Emma as Dean throws his arms around Cas’ neck.

“I’m sorry too, man,” Dean sniffs into Cas’ neck. “I kept losing my temper, I don’t blame you for being pissed at me.”

“Dean,” Cas sighs and brings a hand up to rest on the back of Dean’s neck. He’s got two Winchesters in his arms and it figures as soon as one stops crying the other one starts.

Castiel holds them both.

“I’m sorry I make you babysit,” Dean hiccups. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not making me do anything, Dean,” says Cas. “I’m doing it because I love you, and I love Emma, and I don’t trust anyone else with either of you.”

Dean tightens his grip around Cas.

“Hang on,” Cas wriggles away, “Let me set her down.”

Dean sniffles, “I’ll grab a blanket.”

He grabs an old, soft quilt from the linen closet and lays it flat on the floor. Castiel makes a makeshift barrier out of throw pillows and sets Emma behind it. She shifts, but she’s so out of it that she doesn’t wake all the way. Dean and Castiel both let out a breath of relief.

They together with their backs against the couch, shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg.

“You smell like pot,” Dean yawns.

“I do what I have to do to get by,” Castiel yawns in return.

Dean hums and shifts so he’s fully cuddled into Castiel’s side.

They’re both too tired to care that Castiel wraps an arm around Dean’s shoulder and holds him there.

* * *

Dean only wakes when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

It’s a SnapChat from Sam.

A picture of the three of them asleep on the living room floor, with a heart drawn around them. The caption reads “Baby’s First Christmas”.


End file.
